


Scars of Lamentation

by liusaidh_writing



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liusaidh_writing/pseuds/liusaidh_writing
Summary: Claire suffers when she comes back through the stones.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	Scars of Lamentation

**Author's Note:**

> One thing that always intrigued me about Outlander was Claire's return to Frank. The book went into their life together, certainly (and the show did a great job of showing a small bit of it, too) but I was always curious - how did that first week or so go for her? How did she manage to cope? This is just a little piece exploring that (poorly). Hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Also posted on my tumblr: liusaidh-writing.tumblr.com

Claire felt like she was drowning. Her cloudy sense of time and reality all but kept her in bed most days. She couldn’t keep her head above water - she kept choking on memories that would gut her again and again. They’d resurface at night, when she dreamed, or in the middle of the day when she felt well enough to venture downstairs for tea with Ms. Graham. She refused to speak to Frank, though she knew she’d have to sooner or later. Ms. Graham was her saving grace - Claire knew she understood somehow, that she believed it all. Claire even wondered sometimes if Ms. Graham was a traveler herself, though she never plucked up the courage to ask her outright. The look in the older woman’s eyes was sometimes dreamy, sometimes far away, like she had a secret herself. 

The hardest part was night, though. Claire dreaded the dark, dreaded closing her eyes. For one thing, she still wasn’t used to the noises again. Cars would rumble down the street, startling her out of the light sleep she’d allow herself when she couldn’t fight the pull of fatigue any longer. Her mind would race with images of British soldiers atop horses, of unseen threats and real, true fear. She had nightmares of losing Faith all over again. She was always alone in an empty, cold room, and her baby was nowhere to be seen. Claire would wake herself, and the rest of the house, screaming. Frank rushed in the first few times it happened, but Claire refused to let him attempt to help. She’d ball up and cover her head with blankets, shivering with fear and cold and the deepest desire to be anywhere, anyone else. 

Frank had made the decision to give her a dose of Nembutal at night to help her sleep. She had quietly accepted them, then promptly excused herself to the bathroom where she flushed them down the toilet. 

She hated her dreams, for the most part, but chose not to attempt to quell them for fear of what she’d lose. Jamie would appear in random snatches, like a patchwork quilt - the memories that held him were a balm, a comforting presence, though they were double edged. It was also torture. It reminded her of what she’d left behind when she’d been made to go back through those bloody stones, made her wish with every fiber of her being that she could walk back to them and begin again. 

She wondered sometimes if she did so, where in time would she land? Would her heart take her back to Jamie, back on that hillside, back inside the shack where they’d both scarred themselves for one another? Her wrist burned sometimes - like a flame was being held close to her skin. She liked to pretend it meant Jamie was thinking of her - wherever he was now. It made him feel close again, somehow. 

Frank had stupidly chosen to burn the dress she’d had on when she came back through, but she’d quietly kept the plaid, locked it away with her undergarments. She’d pull it out at night, wrap herself in the warmth it provided. She could close her eyes and imagine she was on horseback, Jamie behind her, guiding the horse with the reins with one hand as he clutched her middle with the other. She’d recall how she’d lay her hand on top of his, lean back, and enjoy his comforting presence. He would plant quiet kisses in her hair as they rode, whispering Gàidhlig to her, sometimes letting his hand free hand wander lower than was strictly safe. 

Half her heart was gone, and she had no idea how to fix it, how to feel like a whole person again. She wondered if the little one she carried would help heal her - though she hated thinking that way - it wasn’t the child’s responsibility. She held within her a piece of Jamie, and she clung to the hope that the baby would be delivered safely, that she could create some degree of normalcy for herself and the wee thing. She knew she had to - she’d made her promise. 

The ‘J’ carved into her skin was a testament to her commitment to Jamie, and a scar she’d carry forever. It was small enough that it was not noticeable, except to her - her secret sepulcher for all that had come before it.


End file.
